3.19.19 - When the patellar tendon ruptures

when the patellar tendon ruptures
ruptured
you wonder if its
just you
falling apart
if the body is failing you
or you failing it
you wonder
if
its
just
you

bad things happen in threes
they say
cancer, says a father
surgery, says your knee
wait, says the distant love
bad things happen all the time
every day
not yours, support the man
heal, then fix yourself
she’ll find her, her way

But in all seriousness, knee injuries suck. It is not easy to go from 100 miles an hour every day to ice packs every chance I get. It’s hard not to feel sorry for myself. There’s plenty of reasons to do so, and the past week it’s been hard to write.

Don’t know what else to do. About any of it.

3.11.19 - Blog post

I will gladly be the first to admit using writing as a coping mechanism. If anxiety gets to me, typically about bigger-picture problems or things outside my locust of control, I’ll pull up a draft of what I’m working on, in order to keep from spiraling. I also use the gym daily for the same purpose. Ever since a stressful event snapped me out of the past thirty-five years, I needed some way to finally take care of myself. So I started working out weekdays for free after work. Six months later I bought a gym membership (for the third time in a decade). But, somehow, unlike the other failed attempts, I’ve stuck with it now for over a year, averaging six days a week.

I’m still far from my goals, and they grow every day. When I started, I wanted to not feel fat and not have a gut that hung over my belt. Bu the change has been more than just physical. I care about myself more. I’m calmer, a bit more humble and confidant at the same time. I’m also far less self-destructive, can’t afford the down time and ache in the muscles. Maybe it’s more of a hermit life, but at least I have goals I can work towards again.

Little bit of pride there.

Under 119,000 words, which is great. Every little bit I can chip away makes the narrative clearer. Keep chipping, keep chopping. Whether it’s words or weight, just keep chopping at it. Soon that tree will fall and you’ll find yourself in a wonderful new forest.

Because, sometimes, don’t we need to get a little lost in the woods?
Maybe Robert Frost had it right and wrong on that snowy evening.

3.4.19 - Blog Post #16 - Updates

I broke under 120,000 words night. Supposedly, that’s the milestone maximum length that typically gets published. The first finished draft hit 200,000 words last year. And this year I’ve been slowly chopping down the word count while cleaning up and clearing out a lot. So, so, so many errors…

I wonder how many writers hate finding errors, or if they find them as much as I do. Grammar, spelling, repeated phrases. After three drafts I’m finding more and more. Editing a novel is like Hoarders, trying to justify every phrase when you know you need to throw it away.

“But it’s brilliant!” - No, it’s redundant and distracting.

“But it’s a theoretical physics!” - No, its fake-technical sciencey bullshit. It’s sci-fi. Create rules but let the audience fill in the details too.

“But it’s pretty.” - No it’s not.

“Maybe someone will like it as a quote.” - You’re not George fucking RR Martin.

“It’s eloquent.” - I don’t think that word means what you think it means.

The real challenge: finding readers willing to review this and give proper feedback once this (last?) draft is done.